


I Don't Believe in Destiny

by LeashedDemons



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Dark Past, Eventual Smut, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Past Violence, Scars, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, nonsexual acts of intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeashedDemons/pseuds/LeashedDemons
Summary: On a whim, Geralt saves a young woman and goes home with her but quickly realizes that it was more than a coincidence that the two met.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 85





	1. What the Hell I'm in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is like the longest chapter I've written in like forever (for any fic). Also, the Geralt thirst is real. I also want to apologize for not like proofreading this before posting it at like 5am but I wanted to get some feedback on it oops. Speaking of, please leave feedback and tell me you love it (or don't I guess??). Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Edit: I also literally just realized I changed her name. Oops. Sorry about that guys.

It was supposed to be a day like any other. She walked this way from Yspaden weekly, sometimes every day if her lack of supply called for it, and she had been when this _thing_ had attacked her. It had all been so sudden she didn't have a chance to do anything, even move. It had her pinned to the ground, having come down from a nearby tree. Her supplies were ruined, discarded, and she was so surprised by the creature currently pinning her down and gnashing at her with large pincers that she didn't even _notice_ she'd been injured. Hands struggled to hold back the pincers as four spider-leg legs held her down. She tried to move whilst holding the creature back but it failed.

The sound of a single, well-placed _slash_ and the creature stopped struggling against her before splitting perfectly in half. Hazel-brown eyes watch as black blood spills from where it's separated, falling onto her form like rain, staining her dress, neck, face and some of her hair. She can't bring herself to move, instead, she just lays there, hands still up though holding nothing.

She's in shock, covered in the creature's blood from head to toe, and she doesn't know how long she lays there with pupils blown wide and mouth ajar before her savior turns towards her, eyes pitch black and sheaths his sword over his left shoulder. She's taken aback for a moment by his appearance: the gray hair covered in a thick layer of the beast's blood, the black of his eyes and the veins around them flooding the same color, a remarkably handsome face and strong, broad shoulders.

He tilts his head at her, either out of curiosity or confusion and trudged over to her, grasping the body of the beast and tossing it aside with the same ease he'd cut it down with as pitch-black retreats, giving way to beautiful amber eyes. He was dressed in a fine pair of black armor, though it was light. It wouldn't protect from anything; it seemed more for show than protection. As he began to cross the space between them, she realized he was moving towards her and in her shock, started to scramble backward though she must've looked just as much like prey to him as the deceased beast beside her. He grasped her perhaps a bit too roughly by the wrist and forced her to stop her scrambling. For a moment, they just stared at each other. His grip unrelenting on her wrist, his fierce amber eyes curiously peering down into her hazel-brown ones. Then his mouth opens, revealing a hint of pearl-white teeth and sharp canines and he spoke softly, a bit more gruffly than intended.

“Are you alright?”

The question stuns her, but she supposes that in the situation it made sense. Having just rescued her, it was only sensible to ask if she was okay, but she still hadn't expected such a thing. His hand adjusts on her wrist, rotating to grasp the underside of her wrist. Then, with the same strength he'd tossed the beast aside, he pulls her up, nearly bringing her into his broad chest. It takes her another moment to gather herself, pushing short cherry red hair back from her face as she stumbles once more. He tightens his grip on her wrist again, giving it a soft tug to balance her.

“I...”

She started to say, pausing to look over at the beast's carcass beside her. It was cut in half, black blood splattered across the greenery like a stain that might never go away, and she felt her throat filling with bile. She turned from him, her wrist freed in the process and threw up. She heard a small chuckle from behind her and raised her eyebrow as she stood back up, swiping at her chin with her sleeve.

“What?!” She demands, brows furrowing. She doesn't know why exactly, but she feels like she's being laughed at and not in a good way. It made her feel embarrassed and weak and while this might not exactly be the time to feel so, she did. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a situation where she'd needed help, been unable to save herself, and it made her frustrated. Not only had she nearly been killed, but this man had saved her and now it seemed he was making fun of her.

“Nothing.” He muses, amber eyes looking her over like a predator does prey. Then, he just turns towards the slain beast and striding over to his horse, grasping the reins and begins to walk off as if nothing had happened. She glances from the body of the beast to the retreating figure of her savior before stumbling out of the foliage and after him.

“W-wait! How can I thank you?” She catches up with him, though she has to run to do so. He stops and tilts his head towards her, looking at her through long dark bangs, the smallest of smirks present on his lips. He watches her fall into step beside him before continuing in his stride.

“You can take me to the nearest town.” He says though he doesn't look at her, keeping his gaze set on the path before them. She nods as she follows beside him, taking her sleeve and swiping at the blood on her face. He looks over at her and rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything. As they continue down the road, she kicks a rock that they pass, linking her hands behind her as she peered up at the stormy sky.

“You know, Yspaden is at least a day's away and well,” She scrunches her nose up and strays away from him, “You need a bath.”

“What?” He says, turning his head to face her and she wanders back towards him at this time with a small giggle.

“I'm _saying_ you're covered in whatever the fuck that thing was's blood and well, I could repay you by offering up my place for the night.” She gestures ahead of them where the road diverges into two paths, one leading deeper into the forest and towards her home. “Least I could do, considering.”

If she really thought about it, it wasn't a good idea to invite some strange man back to her home even if he had saved her, but she had some feeling about this man. Call it intuition, destiny, gut, whatever. There was just something about him that made her feel like she could trust him, like he was, well, _safe_. He looks at her and seems thoughtful before he nodded.

“Come.” She says, stepping in front of him and leading him down the path that leads deeper into the forest.

It wasn't long until they reached her humble home located within the thick of the forest. She felt waves of relief wash over her at the sight of the small cottage that she called home. She glanced back at the man behind her and nodded towards the home before continuing up the cleared path to the house, stopping at the wooden door. She gently pushed it open and stepped inside, a smile crossing her features as she stepped inside.

The front door opened directly into a small living room which contained a few soft chairs set against the walls for the sake of space, too many shelves that were overflowing with books, herbs, and various trinkets. The living room led immediately into her kitchen, which was slightly smaller than her living room and was fashioned with several shelves as well, though mainly filled with herbs and spices she'd harvested from the forest. The kitchen then leads into her bedroom in the far back of the house, about the same size as the living room, which only contained her bed and a few stray books. The bathing room was connected to her bedroom and this gave her a mild sense of anxiety.

Now she was starting to regret her decision. After all, she hadn't even asked this man's name and yet here she was, inviting him into her home. Sure, her family had taught her hospitality but look at what that had gotten them. She flinched slightly at the memory and pushed it out of her mind as she stepped into the living room and out of the way of her guest, gesturing for him to enter. It seemed that in the time she'd been berating herself for being dumb, he'd tied up his lovely horse outside.

“Geralt.” He says as if able to sense her unease. She observed him as he carefully stepped over the threshold, looking about the cottage critically before shrugging dismissively.

“Uh, Rosemary. Everyone just calls me Rose, though.” She replies, shutting the door behind him and heading towards the kitchen. He removes his sword from his back and sets it down beside the door, resting it against the wall.

“Everyone?” He asks, a hint of amusement present in his tone. She rolls her eyes as she removes a pan, filling it with water. Seeing that her fireplace was still lit from when she'd left earlier, she placed the pan atop it before turning to him, though keeping by the fire to warm herself.

“Yeah, if I actually spoke to people, it'd be everyone.” She turns back to the pan, watching it carefully as it heats on the fire, gesturing to one of the plush chairs. She can feel that he's surveying the contents of the room, not necessarily furniture but more so the clutter, and she feels a slight inclination to feel bad about it but stuffs it down. “You're welcome to sit. I'll warm the water and then cook while you're bathing.”

He's by her side all of a sudden and her senses are bombarded with the smell and dare she say it, the _taste_ of the beast's blood and guts and it nearly sends her stumbling back. Regardless, she remains polite and peers up at him, surprised to find the same concerned look on his face that he had when he'd helped her up. She tilts her head curiously, the stench now forgotten.

“What is it? I can cook first if you're really hun-”

“You bathe first.” He looks her up and down with those bright amber eyes of his and her face flushed hot with mortification at her current state of disarray. She knew she must look terrible – hair disheveled and covered in the blood of a slain beast (and not even one she'd slain herself), dress torn, muddied and soaked through with blood as well, and skin slathered with mud, leaves and even more blood. If she'd been spotted after he'd rescued her, she was sure the poor passerby would've run away screaming like a banshee. “You look like shit.”

“Uh.” While she _did_ look like shit and she knew it, it was yet again not exactly the response she'd been expecting. Weren't men supposed to, like, flatter women? She knew she was far from the prettiest and certainly not the most charming, certainly, a man would seek to flatter her, yes? And yet it seemed Geralt was just dead-set on flat-out insulting her. She clenched her fists at her sides, clenching and unclenching her jaw repeatedly, looking down at the fire as it heated the pan of water and carefully considered his words. She supposed she didn't have a lot of experience with men, but this was certainly something else. “Right.”

She didn't say anything else. Instead, she grasped the handle of the pot and removed it from the fire and carried it to the bath, pouring it in. It filled the tub nearly halfway and deeming it satisfactory for her purposes, she closed the door and disrobed. She waited a few moments before sinking into the water, but once she did, it was like the doors of heaven had opened and welcomed her. While she wasn't sure about leaving Geralt alone in the living room of her home (she still wasn't sure about bringing him home), she really needed to get clean.

The second her skin touched the clear water, it started to flood black and red from both the creature's blood and her own. She grasped a sponge from the side of the tub and began to run it down her skin, clearing it inch-by-inch, and it wasn't until she got to her leg that she saw the long gash that was the source of her bleeding. With a sigh, she cleared away the rest of the blood, both her own and the beasts and then finished with her hair.

Once this was done, she stepped out to treat the wound on her leg. She carefully took some of her yarrow poultice and placed it over the wound. Heaving a sigh as she felt some of the pain subside, she crossed the room over to the door, grasping the thin bathrobe off the back and pulling it on. It was thin, see-through and stopped mid-thigh but it would have to do as she hadn't brought any clothes into the bathroom. She opened the door, peeked out and around the corner and seeing no sign of Geralt, stepped into the space of her bedroom. She closed the door, leaving it open only a crack and changed into her white night-gown. While it was just as short as the bath-robe, at least it wasn't as see-through.

She paused to look at her reflection in the small mirror on the wall. While she could only see her face and some of her chest, it was _enough_. Her hair was still disheveled, though this time from being washed and the cherry red of the strands was much clearer now that it was clean of the blood and mud. Her skin was a bit reddened from being washed, especially her neck and collarbones, but even that didn't draw as much attention as the hint of a jagged scar peeking out from underneath her night-gown. Svelte fingertips drifted across the dark scar tissue, flinching at the memory that flooded her senses like it was happening before her that very moment.

_The dagger slicing through the air. The screaming of a child. The sobbing of a mother and father._ It nearly brought tears back to her eyes and she struggled to hold them back, feeling like a stone was in her throat and a foot on her chest. She sat down on her bed, clawing at her chest as she felt it get heavier and heavier. Breathing quickly became slow gasps and she felt herself panic at this.

She forced her shoulders down, relaxing them, and raised her arms above her head. Her breathing returned to normal, the weight lifted off of her chest and she felt her throat become gradually less and less constricted. Once she felt in control of herself, she checked her reflection in the mirror before opening her bedroom door and heading out into the living room.

It was there that she found her guest, Geralt had fallen asleep in the chair closest to her door, his sword in hand. She was surprised by his ability to fall asleep so easily and readily, especially in a new place, but she supposed he had nothing to fear with abilities like his. She contemplated waking him for a bath and dinner, but instead resigned herself to bed as well. After all, it had been such a long _fucking_ day.


	2. Being Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Rose get closer, unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shit. Please love me lmao

Geralt awoke to the soft clinking of pans, the smell of garlic and sage and sunlight filtering in through the windows of the cottage. He swiped at his face, trying to shield his eyes, a soft laugh stopping his actions. He turned to look at the young woman standing in the center of the kitchen, the source of the laughter and frowned. She was dressed in a simple forest green dress with brown embroidery and hemming, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and hands covered in a thick layer of flour and herbs.

“You're awake.” She says, practically beaming from ear-to-ear as she turns back to one of the counters in the kitchen and turns with a bowl in hand. He watches with measured interest as she crosses the space between them and offers it to him. Carefully, he takes it in his hands and gives it a sniff, his senses overwhelmed by the pleasant mixture of herbs and meat. He nods appreciatively before taking a bite.

“Thank you.” He mutters. She returns to the kitchen and he watches as she fixes herself a bowl before sitting beside him. They eat quietly for a few moments, only the sound of chewing and the soft clinking of silverware against bowls filling the cottage until Geralt coughed, clearing his throat. “You live here alone?”

“Yes. Why?” She glances at him, her face one of curiosity. He hadn't asked this before and while she isn't exactly sure why he's asking, she can't imagine why. Her mind screams of the possibilities among them murdering, raping or robbing her, but her gut says otherwise. After all, had he wanted to do any of those things, he could've done so while she was sleeping (or after saving her the night prior).

“That's my question.” He muses, finishing his mouthful as his spoon clanked gently against the bowl. He gazed at her through silver strands and she briskly looked away from him, taking up her spoon and eating once more. He observed her as she ate, pretending he wasn't actively watching her as his tongue rolled across his bottom lip. “Why does a young woman such as yourself live alone in a dangerous forest?”

“Forest usually isn't dangerous.” She deflects with a shrug, finishing her food as she stood and crossed the room to the kitchen, placing the bowl on the counter. She turned to face him, setting her palms on the counter behind her, and tilted her head at him. “Why is a Witcher traveling to Yspaden?”

“That's my business.” He counters, finishing his food as well and standing from the chair to follow her. He sets the bowl beside hers and crosses his arms where he stood before her. He stood several inches over her and his form was significantly larger than hers, not that it was surprising. He was larger than most men and most women, but many women found it attractive. This one, though, he wasn't sure about. He could hear her heartbeat, but he didn't hear it pick up at all. It was confusing, to say the least.

“Well, it's my business why I live here.” She says, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she stepped up to him, staring into his face daringly. It was an unforeseen and yet somehow, exciting change from the night before. He could hardly believe that the girl before him was the same girl who, just the night prior, had been covered in a beast's blood and crawling away from him in horror. Instead of responding, he just turns from her.

“I drew up your bath.”

He removed the last piece of his armor and placed it in the chair when he hears her speak from behind him and he gives a nod of acknowledgment. He sets his sword beside the chair and glances around the small cottage before turning to face her as she stood in the doorway of her bedroom, a cloth in hand. He follows her back to the washroom where a tub is waiting filled with water, strips himself immediately of everything (save his Witcher medallion).

“Oh!” She says suddenly when he's standing there completely naked, his back to her, though she quickly turns away. He can't even hide the smirk on his face, but he doesn't even really bother to do so. He clambers into the somewhat small tub, grumbling at its lack of space which forced his knees rather high to his chest and didn't allow for much relaxation but the hot water was a welcome feeling to his worn and tired muscles. “Well, I'll leave you to it.”

“Rose.” He stops her and her small noise of disconcertment and uptick in heart-rate certainly don't escape him. She turns awkwardly, fingertips clinging to the rag in her hands like a lifeline she might lose any second and he sees that her cheeks are flush with blood. His smirk widens. “Have you any soap?”

“O-of course, Geralt.” She crosses the room stiffly, stopping at the small wooden dresser located just across from him and he watches with amusement as she struggles to locate what he's asked for. She removes a bar of yellow soap and turns, figure remaining stiff as a board, and then turns, offering it to him.

He smiles, a rare occasion, though baring a hint of worn-down fangs that hide behind thick lips and a wet hand comes up to grasp the soap. In what could be conceived as an accident, the bar slips from his hand and falls into the once-clear bath water and her face of pure horror is one that will sustain him for years to come.

“Uh.” It is all she can say as she flushes even redder and takes _several_ steps back. He's sure she's even more afraid of him naked than she was when he held a sword and slain a beast the night before. Is it amusing? Certainly. Was it curious? That too, but Geralt knew when enough was enough. His hand returned to the water and removed the soap, running it carefully along the skin of his burly chest, soaping up the thick hairs before glancing up at her.

“You mind getting the back? It'd make this a lot faster.” He offers the soap to her and she stares at him for a long moment, her hands clenched to her chest as she looked like she must just combust. For that moment, he thought she might just say no and as he pulled his hand back to begin washing, she caught his wrist and removed the bar from him and gave a soft nod. He watched as she moved behind him, took a seat and began to gently wipe the bar over his skin.

It was a somewhat odd feeling – being washed by another. While he had been touched by many women (and by that, he meant _many_ ), it was somehow so different and so much more **intimate** to be being washed by one and to have them be so deliberately gentle and soft as they did so, as if he might break or shatter if they pushed too hard or scrubbed too much. Geralt was so used to harshness, to pain, to roughness that this kind of tenderness was foreign to him.

Dainty fingers drifted across the skin of his back and the muscles rippled on instinct as scars, new and old were touched. His ears perked at the sound of her heart-rate steadying as her fingers ran across the length of each scar, seeming to memorize the length and width of each one. He found himself relaxing into her touch, a sigh coming from deep within his chest. At the sound, she pulled her fingers back and leaned forward, looking at him.

“Is everything alright? I didn't hurt you...did I?” She implored, voice dulcet in his ear. He shuddered a little, goosebumps blossoming across his skin. Was there a draft in the room?

“No.” He reassures. It was true – it took more than an empty hand across his skin to hurt him. After all, he was a Witcher, known for his superhuman strength and lack of emotion. Not only was he a Witcher, but he was also the Butcher of Blaviken. Some unsullied girl who flushed at the sight of a naked man couldn't bring him to his knees...could she?

He reached behind him and grabbed the soap from her hand, surprising her, and waved her off. If she thought anything of it, she didn't say. He heard her heartbeat, even as she retreated into the living room. He threw his head back against the back of the tub, groaning loudly. He needed to finish this damn bath; his legs were cramping up.

“Thank you for opening your home to me. I appreciate your hospitality.” He adjusts the black pauldrons as he stepped into her quaint living room where she sat in one of the fluffy chairs. She glanced up at him from where she was grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle. She tossed cherry red strands from her face as she glanced up at him.

“Of course. Feeling better?” She guessed, brows raising hopefully. He nodded and grasped his sword, attaching it to his shoulder where it belonged. She watched him with a hint of sadness in her eye before setting the mortar and pestle down and retreating into her bedroom and returning with a long red cloak over her dress. “I'm assuming you'd like to go to Yspaden now.”

It's said with a hint of questioning as if she hopes he'll say no, I wasn't headed that way or I can stay for a few days. He can see it in her eyes and in her face – the loneliness – the same loneliness he's sure is reflected in his face sometimes. He hides it most of the time, knowing too well that loneliness can be so consuming and likes the company. If there was one thing Geralt often wasn't fond of, it was the _company_.

“...I haven't slept well in some time.” He remarks aloud. She wrinkles her face, visibly confused. Wait, what the **fuck** was he doing? While he supposed there wasn't any real harm in sticking around this place for a few days, especially with so many beasts lurking in these woods, he didn't think it was the best idea either. Yet, here he was, implying that he was going to spend more time there. His feet felt stuck to the floor, unmoving, _unwilling_ to move.

“You can rest here.” She offers. He had trouble sleeping too often and yet last night, he had passed out in her chair so easily. Her home had a sense of tranquility that penetrated even the most restless parts of his soul. How odd that he'd found such serenity in a stranger's home in the middle of a forest. Still, he didn't see any real harm in indulging it, especially if it let him catch up on some sleep. After all, he couldn't be a competent warrior without a sufficient amount of rest.

“It's too late to go to Yspaden anyway.” He glances behind him, seeing that the sun is beginning to set behind him. While there was technically enough time to get to the town, he didn't see a reason to when he had a perfectly good place to rest here. Why travel an hour for a different, possibly less comfortable place to rest? He was likely going to be more comfortable here.

“Well, I have to go outside to the garden. You're more than welcome to come.” She offers, grasping a woven basket and heading for the door. He raises his eyebrows in interest and follows, broad frame filling the doorway as he stepped out. He paused momentarily, basking in the fading sunshine before following her into the garden located to the side of the small cottage.

It was a modest garden, filled with various herbs and smelling wonderful but a little overpowering to his heightened senses. He covered his nose as the scents of lavender, chamomile, echinacea, cinnamon and ginger flood his senses. He watched as she bent down and begun inspecting the plants before harvesting the necessary parts, placing each carefully inside of the basket. He watched her with a careful curiosity, head tilted.

He had known a few herbalists and healers here and there but never someone who was dedicated and focused on their craft. Her garden was filled with a variety of herbs at different stages of growth and her home was also filled with herbs that were prepared or being prepared to be used as medicine. It struck him as odd, considering she lived so far out, but it also seemed to be a passion for her.

“Do you sell your medicines?” He inquires, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watches her inspect the leaves of a particular plant. She doesn't look away, remaining focused on the plant. While she doesn't seem like the type who would sell medicine and would instead offer it to those who need it, she also seemed the type who needed money and if there was one thing Geralt understood, it was the need for coin.

“No.” She mumbled, though he certainly caught it. She stood from the plant and hooked her arm under the basket's handle and lifted, striding past him back towards the house. She pushed the hair away from her face again as she used her hip to push the door open again. “Selling medicine? That's disgusting. I offer my medicine for anyone who needs it, free of charge.”

“That's kind of you.” He offered as he entered the house after her, shutting the door and leaning against it as he watched her set her basket down and began unloading it on the counter. He felt a change in the atmosphere at his words. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, having felt like he'd just complimented her, but he could tell there was something _different_ about her attitude. Her shoulders hunched forward and slumped in place and she was notably slower as she unloaded the basket.

“I call it being human.”


	3. Raw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns about Rose's scar.

“Well, I can't let you sleep in the chair again.” She thinks aloud, looking around her living room. She didn't really have a spare bed for someone to sleep in; it wasn't often she had visitors and therefore, she didn't feel the need for a spare bed. Still, she felt she couldn't let him sleep in her chairs (she knew how uncomfortable they were) or on the floor. After all, that was just plain rude, especially after she'd offered her home to him. Fingers tapped thoughtfully against pink lips, tugging occasionally on the bottom tier as brows furrowed in the direction of her bed sitting in the center of her room almost in offering.

Her heart raced at the very idea and she heard a small noise from Geralt at what she'd said, though it wasn't anything productive, more contemplative than anything. He had barely been there a day and she already knew him to be a reserved man of few words, choosing instead to be pensive. It was certainly different compared to most men she knew, though she supposed she didn't know a lot of men.

Normally, she would be apprehensive of sharing her bed (platonically, of course) with another male but there was _something_ about Geralt that told her he wasn't dishonorable, that he wouldn't harm her. He didn't seem the type to force himself on women anyway, not that he needed to looking like that. She couldn't help the thoughts of being kissed by the man and the featherlight touches on her skin that filled her brain. She quickly forced the sin out of her mind as she turned to the Witcher occupying her favorite chair, coughing.

“How about...my bed?” She suggests, a hint of hopefulness underlying her tone but likely not for the reason he suspects as his head cants to the side at her, dark eyebrows raised. The look in his eye, the smirk pressed onto his perfect lips, and her sinful thoughts that return tenfold are telling of what he must think she's suggesting. Her blush returns and she sputters. “U-uh, I-I meant sh-sharing it, 'y know because I don't have a spare...obviously. Or you can take the bed and I can sleep out here by myself...”

_Because why would he sleep with you, dumbass_. She silently curses herself for being so _stupid_ and for stuttering over her words, especially over something so dumb, and she wishes that she hadn't said it at all. He isn't replying, isn't even making a sound, or even a _hmm_ noise and she can feel the perspiration gathering on her brow as she waits.

“Uh, I mean, forget it.” She throws her hands in the air, laughing nervously, turning from him as she did so.

_Sostupidsostupidsostupid._

“Wait.” The same hand that had gripped her and pulled her from the mud grasps her, again a bit harder than intended, and pulls her back to face him. She gasps a little, more than a little surprised at the action as she's swiveled to turn and face Geralt whose brows are drawn up and lips scrunched in what appears to be bemusement. “I...”

“I meant for sleeping, Geralt.” She says for clarification. She isn't sure if it needs to be said, so better safe than sorry, right? Though she can't say she'd be unhappy if she ended up in the sack with the man. He certainly seemed experienced _and_ safe, both of which were a rare find together. He seems to understand what she was saying, the clarification clearing up any confusion and he releases her wrist, letting it fall to her side. Still, they remained standing there, breath mingling together.

“Well, um...I'm gonna go prepare the bed.” She confirmed, retreating to the room. She closed the door behind her and rested against it, taking several deep breaths to calm herself down from such close proximity with the man. She hadn't expected such emotional turmoil within herself from just inviting a stranger into her home, granted he was an attractive stranger _and_ one she was about to share her bed with.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ She cast her gaze out the window of her bedroom, seeing that the sun had set and it's in that moment she realizes how terribly exhausted she was. While it was true that she hadn't done much today, she supposed Geralt was a new addition to her routine (granted, temporarily) and that was unexpectedly exhausting. She ran a hand over her face before she set to changing. Afterward, she sat down on her bed and lifted her leg onto the mattress, carefully undoing the bandage to check on her wound.

It was healing well, thanks to the poultice she'd put on it. She runs her fingers across the skin before standing and she approached the door, taking a heavy sigh to alleviate the butterflies rising in her belly. She ran a hand across the scar on her chest, lightly digging into the tissue then threw the door open and stepped into the living room.

Geralt was turned away from her, removing the last piece of his armor and tossing it onto the growing pile in her chair. Sensing her presence, he turns and his eyes widen some at her appearance, though she can see that they are focusing on her upper chest marred by the large scar. Subconsciously, she brings her arm across her chest, slinging her hand on her shoulder as she tilts her head at him. He says nothing but moves his gaze to her face, studying it, trying to detect what she was feeling.

“Bed's ready. 'm tired, but you're welcome to come whenever you're ready.” She mentioned, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

He closes the space between them and reaches out, somewhat hesitantly to touch the thick scar that disfigures her. Before he can touch it, her hand slaps his away. It was somewhat startling, especially considering the fact that she had touched his scars just hours ago in the bath. His hand tenses at his side where it had fallen when she'd slapped it away.

“Don't.” She hissed, closing her eyes for a moment. She took the moment to force herself to relax and he watched as all the tension seemed to fade from her and he listened intently, noticing as her heartbeat slowed gradually until it reached a normal level. “Just...don't.”

She returned to the bedroom and he followed moments after her, watching perhaps a bit uncomfortably as she went to her side of the bed and got underneath the bedding. She laid down on the pillows and looked up at him, confused. She gave a soft laugh and raised her eyebrows at him as he leaned against the wall.

“What? First time you've slept with a woman?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest. He rolls his eyes and mutters something underneath his breath, but she doesn't catch it. He crosses the room cautiously, sitting down on the side opposite her, leaning down to remove his boots and push them underneath the bed. Then, he grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head, discarding it on the floor.

He hears her heartbeat pick up again, this time pleasantly and the edge of his mouth tugs upward a little as he lays down beside her, closing his golden eyes and folding muscular arms underneath his head. He feels her eyes remain on him and he struggles to hide the smile threatening to grace his lips.

“What? Never seen a shirtless man?” He taunts, tsking playfully. She rolls her eyes and he feels the bed shift beside him as she turns to face him, resting on her arms. He moved to mirror her, golden amber meeting hazel-brown. “What happened?”

The words come out barely above a whisper and his amber eyes glance downwards to the hypertrophic scar peeking out from behind the sheer white night-gown. It was a dark pink and raised from the rest of the skin, painfully obvious against the rest of her lovely skin. Compared to the rest of her skin, it looked so harsh and angry. She glanced down at it and her own fingers drift across the raised skin before she moved to instead lay on her back.

“The people of Redania are...well, quite cruel when it comes to things like class...” She starts, eyes drifting closed as she felt tears prick at her eyes. “My family have always been peasants and because we live here, we are treated like trash. No, less than trash. Even so, my parents were kind. They treated people without asking for payment.”

She felt the tightness grow in her chest and she grasped at the sheet, swallowing the tightness she felt coming on. Just at the mention of it, she could feel the memory (what little of it she had) flood her senses, even more so now that she was talking about it. She paused to glance over at Geralt and took a slow breath, filling her lungs completely and then let it out of her nose.

“One day, my parents treated a nobleman. He wasn't satisfied with his treatment, said my parents didn't do a 'satisfactory job'.” Her fingers came up to drift across the scar on her chest, and she shifted again, facing Geralt on her side again. “This was their punishment. _My_ punishment for screaming was the end of theirs.”

Geralt didn't know what to say. What _could_ he say? What was there to say to a confession like that? He could offer no reassurance, no compassion; such things weren't his area and even if they were, there could _be_ no reassurance or compassion for a disgusting crime such as that. He looks back up at the ceiling, face contemplative. She reflects him and they remain like that for a while until sleep crept in and took them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls give me comments. I will literally sacrifice a virgin for comments.
> 
> Edit: I just fixed a couple typos and that sort of thing :)


	4. A Matter of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more intense between Geralt and Rose; Geralt departs for Yspaden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this literally took me all fucking day to write, but god bless it. I think it might actually not be trash. It gets a little hot and heavy in this chapter but nothing too serious.

Geralt awoke to the feeling of warmth against his side. While it wasn't unpleasant or disturbing, it was surprising. Golden eyes blinked several times in the darkness of the room before glancing downward. He was surprised to find that in the night, she had pressed herself to his side, her leg against his and her head was currently resting on his broad shoulder like it had always belonged there. She was fast asleep, her mouth slightly ajar, and a bit of drool falling onto her chin.

He reaches up and wipes the drool away and smiled a little at the restful look on her face. The steady sound of her heartbeat filled his ears while the scent of her lemongrass soap and the clean, lemony scent of the yarrow on her leg filled his nose. It washed over him in steady waves with every inhale, reminding him of long-forgotten times with his mother. It was bittersweet, all things considered.

He brushed strands of hair from her face, stopping when she moved to bury herself further into him. Her face buried into the crook of his neck, and a hand came up to softly touch the Wolf medallion resting in the center of his chest. The contact is somehow more intimate than anything they'd done before and she's sound asleep. Geralt doesn't know if she's just clinging to him for warmth, for reassurance, but it seems quite a lot to do with a stranger.

_You do more than this with strangers_. A voice chimes in the back of his head and he mentally kicks it. While it wasn't exactly wrong, he didn't care to go about indulging the more intimate, deeper parts of him. It was easier to just bed a stranger and be on his way than hold them, touch them so viscerally. He was a Witcher, after all – not only did he lead a dangerous life, but he didn't **feel** things. He couldn't feel things.

But if that was really so, what was this feeling in his chest? Why did his heart reflect hers, following hers like destined companions? Why did it feel as if they were connected on some deeper level? With so many questions in his mind and none that he could answer in that moment (or possibly, ever), he closed his eyes again and let sleep take him again.

_And, why did he sleep so easily when she was around?_

She woke slowly, groaning softly and stretching, shielding her eyes from the sunlight as she rolled onto her side. She stopped just short of the man who was still resting next to her, the sunlight seeping in through the window hitting him just perfectly. Slowly as not to disturb him, she sat up and surveyed him in the gentle light.

His hand was thrown across his face, blocking it, and his mouth was slightly ajar, exposing some of his fangs. He breathed slowly in and out, his chiseled chest rising and falling with each breath. It was only then that she realized just how muscular he was and how much hair he truly had on his chest. It was a different color than those on his head, instead being a thick dark black, some curling and some laying perfectly flat.

“Geralt?” She asked, reaching across and placing an unsteady hand on his chest. Fingertips brushed through the coarse hair of his chest and she couldn't deny that she liked how it felt as she touched it. The only men she'd been around didn't have chest hair like his and she'd never even seen hair like this, let alone brushed through it.

He didn't stir for a moment, but when he did, he was confused by the manner in which he was being touched. He removed his hand from his face, letting it fall beside him on the bed, and he tilted his head at her. He made no move to stop her or push her away, instead watching as her fingers combed through the dark hair and she surveyed his reaction.

Bright but visibly perplexed eyes raked down the length of her face as she did this, trying to read her. She wasn't like everyone else and it both drew him in and irritated him. He couldn't read her, couldn't figure out what she was thinking or what she wanted with him. Hazel eyes that were illuminated with brown before now had hints of green in them as they hungrily took in the planes of his chest like it was both the first and last time they'd see it.

Her face was unsullied by frustration or apprehension, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of excitement, and her bottom lip was being gently chewed by pearly white teeth. Her cheeks were flushed a light pink, reminding him of snap-dragons. Her red hair was short, framing her face and the strands stopping just short of her chin.

He felt her hand move upwards and he glanced downwards to find the end of her finger tracing the shape of the wolf on his medallion. His head tilted further at the action, finding it more confusing than the previous actions before his eyes wandered back up to her face. She had leaned down to inspect the medal, halting in doing so to look into his yellow eyes.

“What's this mean?” She questions, still running her fingers across it. He brings his hand up and takes hers, pulling its attention from the medal in question. He drifts the tips of his fingers over the top of her hand, across her knuckles and then down her shapely fingers.

“It's a symbol,” He starts, lifting the medallion to his view and turning it left and right, watching the light reflect on it. “From where I trained, the School of the Wolf. It's where I became a Witcher.”

She frowned at this and he mirrored her response, letting the medallion drop against his chest. For a moment, anticipation hangs in the hair and Geralt can hear the rhythmic pounding of her chest beckoning to him. His hand released hers, instead moving to softly trace the skin of her lower lip then to the back of her neck.

It happens swiftly – in the hopes that she won't object – him pulling her down, their lips meeting in a mess of tongue and teeth. He understands almost immediately that he'd been right in his assumptions about her: she was vestal, more so than anyone he had known. From how she kissed him, with such fervor and passion, begging for more and yet somehow apprehensive of more, it was clear that Geralt was one of few men she'd shared her bed with.

Geralt starts to kiss her, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth and softly sucking on it. Strong hands grasped her by the hip and pulled her onto the top of him, giving a slight roll of his hips into hers. A loud gasp allowed him to abandon her mouth and begin pressing open-mouthed kisses along the skin of her jaw-line. Fingers came to grasp at his tousled silver locks before they moved to his shoulders, pushing timidly.

“W-wait. Stop.” She manages through heavy breathes. Geralt pulls away instantaneously at the words, having never been one to force himself in any way on a woman. She moves her hands to his shoulders as he lays back casually, letting her take control at this point. She's panting, lips kiss-swollen and there's a part of him that fills with pride at this. He can't remember the last time a woman looked like this on top of him and _god_ , she looked so good on top of him.

“I...” She starts but Geralt can barely hear her over the sound of both of their hearts pounding in his ears. He struggles to focus on what she's saying, pillowing his hands underneath his head as he peers up at her with curious amber eyes. He can sense her arousal, can _smell_ it and it's sweeter than any other woman's. He licks his lips at the very thought of tasting it. The deeper, darker part of him wants to ravage and defile her right there.

“I can't.” She says this but he knows she wants to. He doesn't even need to smell her to know that. Her body says it all with the way her eyes were blown wide with desire and her hands clenching his shoulders and creating tiny half-moon divots that would fade when she released him. It was strange, too, how he ached for her as well. Every part of him that she was touching felt like it had been on fire but was now being doused in cold water. Every other part of him burned, yearning for her touch and it was _excruciating_.

He watched as she got off of him very carefully, returning to her side of the bed and combing her fingers through her hair. He sat up on his side of the bed, straightening his own hair, removing the tie in it. There was no point in it, after all. Silver hair fell about his face, framing golden eyes, and he heard the bed shift as she stood up behind him. He turned, seeing that she was standing now, her hand slung over her shoulder.

“Listen, Geralt, it's not that you're unattractive. I-” She closes her eyes and turns from him, starting towards the door.

“You don't have to explain yourself.” He says gruffly, standing and beginning to pull his hair back, tying it.

“I'll take you to Yspaden now then.” She says, striding towards the washroom.

They had been traveling perhaps an hour or two, Geralt walking beside Roach and Rose walking beside Geralt, sometimes ahead of him. He couldn't stop himself from watching her – the way that she strode forward confidently, knowing the way, her red cloak trailing behind her. He could tell they were close when what appeared to be a city emerged tall through the treeline.

“Yspaden.” She announced as if it weren't obvious, gesturing to the large gate they were approaching. He said nothing, just delivered a small pat to Roach as they approached. He debated stopping, talking to her, but what would he say? There were countless nights he'd been with women more intimately and walked away without saying a word, but what was he to say to her?

_Oh, by the way, you make my heart beat fast and my dick kinda hard, please come along for more bloody adventures_?

A true selling point, _not_. Geralt knew his life wasn't glamorous or appealing to most, if any and he couldn't ask another person to come along, especially someone who had a place to call home. Even if he did ask her to come along, what could he offer her? Days of worrying, endless travel and nights filled with ale and awkward tension with no relief?

She stops at the gate and he forces himself to do so as well. He removes a pouch jangling with coin and holds it out to her. He sees a flash of hurt in her eyes as she holds a hand out, not in offering but in objection.

“I told you, I don't charge for my medicine. It's the same for leading you to town.” She says, hand dropping to her side.

“For room and board then.” He raises his brows expectantly and holds the pouch out further. He hopes she'll take it. He didn't need it, at least not now and she deserved the coin for giving him a place to stay.

“I don't want your coin, Geralt.” She says, looking down at the bag. “None of it.”

“What do you want then?” The question comes out more sexual than he intended and he can see that it affects her by the way her face flushes and she turns away from him, beginning to stride back from where she came. He sighs and releases Roach's reigns, whispering _stay here_ before hurrying after her. “ _Fuck_ , wait.”

“What?” She asks, turning to him with an intense look on her face. Her eyes are rimmed with red and with her hair also red, it would make even the bravest of men quiver. However, Geralt was more than a man and he wasn't brave.

“Come with me.” He gestures exasperatedly. Her face softens, indignation subsiding at the suggestion. She steps up to him, arms crossing over her chest and he's suddenly reminded of that moment in the kitchen.

“Why?” She mirrors his gesture, eyebrows raising. Roach whinnies behind him as if to say _what the fuck are you doing_ and he can't deny that he's having the same thoughts, not that he knew the answer.

“Because you _fucking_ hate it here. You're treated like trash.” He stepped closer to her, tilting his head. “Why not leave?”

“I...” _Have a home here_ was what she wanted to say, but it wasn't true. Sure, she had a cottage in the middle of the forest, but that wasn’t exactly a home. A home wasn't just four walls and a bed. It was friends, family, _people_. She had none of those and here Geralt was offering her that, or at least one of those. “I... okay.”


	5. Geralt, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns more of Rose's background; An old friend interrupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like trash??? But here it is, ya'll.

  
  


They separated, her returning to her home to get belongings and Geralt continuing into Yspaden. He came across an inn, got them a room and waited at the local tavern for her to return. It doesn't take too long, considering she went alone and without any form of transport. He senses and smells her before he sees her; that now-familiar scent of lemongrass filling his nose and he turns in time to see her before him in the same dress as before, only now there was a belt strapped to her waist sporting a long sword sheath. He quirked his brow at this, taking a long drink of his ale, but didn't say anything. She stood beside him, setting a burlap bag beside him as she beamed up at him like he was her whole universe.

“I'm assuming you have gotten a room.” She says, waving the barkeep down for an ale.

“I have.” He glances down at the sword on her hip, which she notices and smirks a little.

“What? Surprised?” She rests her hand on the hilt of the sword, looking down to it as well, fiddling idly with it as the barkeep brought her ale. “I picked up a few things over the years. Couldn't just let someone cut me and my parents down and learn nothing.”

“Hm.” He hums, turning back to his ale and finishing it in one gulp before setting it down and turning from the bar.

He gestures for her to follow, ignoring as she agonized over the ale she'd just ordered for herself, drinking a little down and then hurrying after him with her bag. She scrambled after him, struggling to keep up with her much shorter legs and carrying her bag as he exited the tavern and started towards the inn where they were staying. He sighed, rolling his eyes and turned, grabbing the bag from her and tossing it over his shoulder before she could protest.

“Hey! I can carry it!” She tried to take the bag back from him but failed, eventually giving up and just falling into step beside him as he lead them to the inn just across the street. He carried it to the room, only setting it down once they were inside and the door was closed, and he struggled to hide his amusement when she huffed at him and crossed her arms. “I told you I could carry it.”

“You also told me Yspaden was a day away.” He said, casting her a knowing look. Her face flushed and she turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, it is... _when you're tired_.”

The last part came out as a mumble but he certainly caught it. He made no point of commenting on it, instead setting to removing his armor. Unlike himself, he fumbled with the straps. Seeing this, she crossed the room and fingers appeared in his line of vision, gently pushing his own away to grasp the buckles for him.

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, surprising him with the same gentleness from before as she untied the belt around his waist. It came loose with ease and she discarded it on the bed beside her, casting a cautious glance up at his face. He was staring down at her, face scrunched up in thought as he watched her do this. No one had done this for him before, even the countless other women he'd been with. His armor was always off when he was with them and something about _her_ taking it off _for_ him struck something deep inside of him.

She continued, unlacing his vambraces and discarding them on top of the belt. Next were his rerebraces and pauldrons, the straps following shortly after. He heaved a sigh, glancing downwards at the black, leather brigandine he was left in, watching as her fingers drifted across it and the stones embedded within it. Carefully, her hand went downward, stopping at the belt keeping it together before undoing it slowly.

Her breath and heartbeat picked up as she did so, watching as the article slid open, revealing the dark tunic underneath. Then, she slides the article off of his broad shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He feels his own heartbeat pick up, drumming impatiently against his chest as if to say _please fucking touch me already_. He hates it, hates feeling so needy and desperate for the touch of another; prefers to make others feel this way. It was just easier that way. Geralt didn't _need_ anyone, hated _needing_ other people.

“There.” She says, moving past him to pick up the armor from the floor and then set it on the bed with the rest. He turns, eyes following her as if she might just vanish if he stopped looking at her. She smiled cheerfully, tucking a hair behind her ear and looked down, blushing sheepishly. “Rest well, Geralt.”

She moves past him towards the second bed in the room, throwing the covers back as she sat down, removing her shoes from her feet before settling in. He watched with enraptured golden eyes as she settled beneath the bedding, gave him one last smile and then closed her eyes. He stood there for a few moments, not sure what to do, feeling as if there was a joke and he'd missed the punchline. Then he made a soft _hmm_ and laid down on the other bed, though on top of the bedding and tried his best to sleep.

 _Keyword: tried_.

  
  


He didn't sleep well, at all, getting only a few hours of sleep. When he awoke, her bed was empty and properly made, though her bag remained. He left the room, searching the inn for her but finding no sign of her. He heard the soft sound of grunts and the slashing of a sword through the air. The source was the back of the inn and filled with curiosity, he followed the sound. He threw the door open and dark brows quirked, confusion crossing his face.

She was practicing with her sword, swinging it left and right with a mastery he had seen few times in his life. He's suddenly reminded of the reason why he received the title Butcher of Blaviken – of _Renfri_ , and how she wielded her swords. It struck a painful chord within him and he swallowed hard, stepping out. His presence made known now, she stopped in practicing, turning to face him. The sword's point falls to rest downward as she turns to face him, panting and face coated in sweat. She swipes at her forehead.

“Good morning.” She greets with a wide smile, “Did you rest well?”

“Well enough.” He gestures to the sword at her side as he steps closer. “You're quite skilled.”

She follows his gaze and gives a sheepish shrug, fingertips playing across the hilt. Geralt smiles a little then removes his own sword, surprising her. He swings it a few times before facing it towards her as he takes on a fighting stance.

“Show me.”

“What?!” She demands, face crinkling in shock at his words. He doesn't give her a chance to reply, instead swinging the sword at her from the right. She brings her own up and successfully blocks, though the force of the blow knocks her back. He doesn't slow down, not even a little and turns, bringing the blade around for a harder hit from the left. She blocks it as well.

“Geralt, what the _**fuck**_?!” She pushes back with her blade, knocking him back a little and holds her own blade out in an offensive position, prepared to either attack or defend. He smirks at this, swinging his blade in his hands. He had to say – she did have skill, far beyond most women or even most swordsman and he found it beyond impressive.

He went in for another strike, this time a direct thrust into her face. She wasn't expecting it, but managed to move her sword to block it from damaging anything (although he hadn't thrust it forward with any real force). He used the moment to grab her and shove her backward, her back colliding with the wall of the inn behind her.

“Geralt?!” Her tone was layered with frustration and surprise, but mainly frustration as his blade was shifted to rest against her throat. He maintained his hold on the front of her dress, fisting it in his hands as he blocked her in against the wall. For a moment, all that seems to pass between them is heavy breaths.

“I hadn’t expected such skill from you.” He breathes, keeping the blade pressed to her throat. Hazel eyes bore into his with a mixture of frustration and surprise as she struggled mildly against him.

“Why? Because I’m a woman?” She wriggled a wrist free and delivered a shove to his shoulder. He allowed the gesture to force him to stumble backward, though only a few feet. He placed both swords facing downwards, leaning on them with a lopsided grin that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

“Course not, because you’re a healer.” He says dismissively, turning the hilt of her sword back to her. Reluctantly, she took it from him and he turned from her to sheath his sword. When he did so, he found himself being shoved against the tree behind him and turned around, a blade thrust against his throat as he was met with the same fierce eyes that haunted his dreams.

“I’m a healer first, that’s true, but I won’t hesitate to hurt someone to save someone.” She relaxed the blade against his throat, though maintained her hold against his shoulder as Geralt peered down at her with curious eyes.

“You can’t save everyone.” It was a statement he knew all-too-well to be true and if he thought on it too much, it made his chest ache with an emptiness that no amount of coin or women could fill. As someone who was supposed to kill monsters, he’d found himself killing a lot of the opposite.

“I can try.” She whispers, relinquishing her hold on him and sheathing her sword in the process. He watches as she does so then sheaths his as well. He can’t help but be a bit inspired by her — someone who had been injured deeply by evil and yet still sought to do good. She had every right to hate, to loathe, to wish the world nothing but bad and yet she sought to do good and to be good.

  
  


“A bathhouse? Why, exactly? If you wanted a bath, we could just go back to my place.” They both stand outside the bathhouse, Rose with her arms over her chest and Geralt looking annoyed.

“I'm waiting on a companion of mine. We agreed to meet here.” He starts to head inside, forcing Rose to run after him, sputtering questions.

“A companion? Who? Wait, why here? Is it a girl?” She followed him as he entered, paid the keeper, and then started towards the private end of the bathhouse. Her head was swirling with questions, though none more particular than why exactly she was going to a _public_ bathhouse with Geralt of Rivia, a man whom she had already kissed and been on top of. It was the highest on a list of bad ideas.

“No. He's a...a bard and a traveling companion.” Geralt mumbled as they reached the private pool Geralt had just paid for them to use. Her face flushes at the thought. The both of them? Sharing _one_ pool? Geralt begins to disrobe as if it's the most natural thing in the universe and she turns away, just like the first time this sort of thing happened. Her face only burns even redder when she finally hears the dripping of water.

“You don't have to join me.” He says and she sighs, tossing him a look. She walks to the edge of the bath, looking him in the eyes fiercely.

“Look away.”

He does as he's told, moving so that he's facing instead the door of the bathhouse instead of her and for some reason, his ears fixate on the sound of fabric rustling and her heartbeat as he senses her getting undressed behind him. He listens as a string is pulled, likely from her bodice, and then the fabric falls to the floor. Fabric glides along skin before eventually being discarded and his own heartbeat picks up as he hears her enter the water behind him, the ripples of the action gently hitting his back.

“What about n-”

“Stay that way.” He can tell by the way she speaks that she's flustered, that she's not exactly comfortable, but there's a lingering scent. Not just of her soap, but of something else. The desire to be touched, the anticipation of being touched...no, the _memory_ of being touched.

He cast the smallest of glances backward, able to see small strands of red sticking to her hot and wet neck and the lines of a back soft but strengthened by hard work. His gaze follows the natural lines of her body, drifting upwards to her neck which he couldn't help but remember kissing. He forces himself to look away before his thoughts get any worse.

While it was a bathhouse and the idea of being naked was implied, Geralt hadn’t really thought the whole idea through but now that he had been looking at water droplets drip slowly down the back of her, he realized his mistake in doing so. He felt the water move and jumped at the sudden contact of her back against his, the feeling of soft, wet hair against his. So close to him, he could feel nearly every inch of her. _Nearly_.

The water stopped around her waist, concealing only the most intimate flesh of her form. She was thin, something he had noticed when she’d been on top of him, but not to the point of being unhealthy or unattractive. She was just right with a little extra around the waist for him to grab onto (just the way he liked them!). He felt the water ripple again and the sound of droplets landing and her hair shifted, presumably as her fingertips combed through them.

“Why are you unmarried?” The question comes out before he can stop it.

“I...” Well, it was a good question. She'd had many men from Yspaden propose to her, try to court her and she'd turned them all down. She supposed there were a few she'd engaged, but eventually, they'd dried up, become nothing. “I haven't found someone.”

“Is that also why you're untouched?” To speak so plainly was easy for Geralt, but it seemed to throw her off and he couldn't deny that he took the slightest bit of joy in that.

“ _Well_ ,” She starts, but before she can continue, the door to the bath was thrown open and in walked an all-too-familiar (at least to one of them) young man dressed in a fancy outfit with a lute thrown over his shoulder.

“Geralt! I've got so many things to tell you!” He pauses, mid-sentence. “Wait, who's this?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, Jask. Always interrupting shit.


	6. Not Around You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose can't figure out what's wrong with Geralt; The trio head out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is SUPER short and I apologize for that but ayyyy. Enjoy Jealous Af! Geralt and Flirty!Jask. Also I am hella tempted to start a lil fic for Jask. Should I?

“So...wait, _you_ started that whole Toss a Coin to Your Witcher stuff?” They had retreated from the bathhouse back to the local tavern where the trio was currently sat at a table: Geralt drowning his sorrows (which were currently many) in ale, the annoyingly chipper Jaskier flirting like Rose was the last woman on the continent, and Rose asking as many questions about Jaskier's travels with Geralt as possible.

“Indeed, I did. Not my only skill, if I don't say so myself.” It's followed by a wink which has Rose's face flushing behind her ale and she takes a long drink to avoid having to say anything, chancing a glance over at Geralt, who had remained quiet this whole time. He had a different air about him, more _quiet_ than usual and if she didn't know better, she'd say he was...no, that wasn't possible.

“Geralt?” She gently put her hand on his shoulder, but he didn't look up. A frown pressed itself onto sweet, pink lips as Geralt lips formed in their own frown, reflecting hers, but he continued to drink his ale in silence. Jaskier laughed, taking a long swig of his ale.

“Don't fret. He's always like this, sourpuss and all. If he's nice, he probably doesn't like you.” The bard says with a chortle, though it's quickly shut down by the glare shot his way by the older man. He swallows hard, fingers drumming against the table as he cast the girl a nervous glance. “So, uh, how'd you meet Geralt?”

Rose nearly choked on her ale. While it was an innocent question, the answer didn't feel so innocent. While Geralt saving her was perfectly innocent, the series of events that seemed to take place afterward weren't so, especially the night they'd spent in her bed. Of course, that night was the one stuck in her mind as she tried to answer Jaskier's question.

“Uh, well he saved me from this disgusting...monster and I...offered my hospitality.” That was putting it mildly. Jaskier's eyebrows raise suggestively and she can imagine why, considering the many ways her statement can be taken and she coughs a few times before taking another long drink of her ale and waving the barkeep over for another round for all of them.

“I see...” Jaskier muses and for a moment she worries he might not believe her. It isn't until he removes a small book and quill that her worries subside. He flips the book open and to an empty page, taking the quill in one hand and looking at her with an unbridled curiosity she hadn't seen in anyone before. “Tell me _exactly_ what happened.”

“Uh...okay...so what happened was...” She started explaining all the details to Jaskier, or at least what she remembered, watching as he wrote all of it down into this small book that he kept on his person. She quickly came to realize it was a detailing of adventures, centrally of Geralt's, and considering his status as a bard, it made sense. After she finished her tale, she gently tapped the page Jaskier was finishing writing her tale on. “So...is Geralt your muse or something?”

Jaskier leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. He tapped his chin. “One of many, I suppose.”

“One of many?” She inquires, leaning forward, completely ignorant of how this exposes some of her cleavage. Jaskier certainly notices, though and is more than appreciative. He stops scrawling, flashing his teeth to her with a wide grin as he too, leans forward.

“Indeed, though I prefer my muses more... _fair_.” He cast a glance over her form in emphasis and she quickly realizes what he's referring to, averting her gaze from him as she leans back again. Geralt, annoyed by all of this, grumbles something and stands, leaving the inn.

The abandoned two struggle to follow, tossing coin at the barkeep as they do so and it isn't until they're outside that they finally catch up, seeing that he's saddling Roach up, Rose's bag included. The two look at each other then at Geralt before hurrying over to him.

“We're leaving.” Geralt says simply, untying Roach from the post outside of the tavern. Though confused, Rose nods and looks over at Jaskier, who shrugs as if to _he's just like this_.

“Where to?” Rose asks, falling into step beside Geralt as they start towards the edge of town, Jaskier following, strumming quietly on his lute. Geralt's attitude seemed the same, but she didn't dare ask about it. Not when he looked so _sour_ and especially considering how he'd looked at Jaskier.

“Ban Gleán.” He remarks, not showing any signs of stopping or slowing down. Roach winnies beside him, almost like he's saying _obviously_ and Rose shoots him a look. “They're having a problem with Vodniks.”

“Vodniks? What are those?” She asks, suddenly feeling clueless.

She realizes then that while she'd agreed to join him on his journey, she knew absolutely nothing about his work. She didn't really understand what a Witcher was – sure she'd heard stories when she was young about them hunting monsters but stories were _stories_. Geralt almost seemed like a storybook hero with his black armor, huge steel sword and brooding attitude. _Almost_. She knew better than that, having seen the darker parts of him when he'd slaughtered that beast in front of her. The stories hadn't talked about _that_. Or the kissing. Or touching. _Oh god_! Where was her mind going?

“They're spirits who ended their lives in the water. Drowned alive or thrown into deep water after death, they turn into vengeful creatures.” Geralt answers her calmly and coolly and she can't help but feel enamored by him. While she never thought she was dumb, she didn't exactly think she knew everything either. She always thought she knew a lot, about herbs, about the world, and yet here Geralt was, telling her about these beasts that existed and it was clear that he knew quite a lot about them. What a wonder it must be to be a Witcher...

“This'll make for a truly legendary song!” Jaskier says excitedly and Rose eyes him suspiciously for a moment as they reach the edge of the town before looking back to Geralt, watching as he mounted Roach. He opted to ignore the bard, instead holding a strong hand out for Rose while his other hand held the reigns of the brown horse.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. _She_ gets to ride?” Jaskier demands, sounded blatantly dejected. Rose glances back at him then at Geralt, who makes a soft noise before just grasping her arm and yanking her up onto the horse behind him. He forces her to wrap her arms around his center and she suppresses the urge to blush, burying her face into his shoulder. She seizes the opportunity to smell his hair – a surprisingly clean yet incredibly spicy scent fills her nose and she flushes even redder.

_God he smells so good_!

“What is it? Am I not tall enough? Actually, no, I am-” Jaskier's rambling is cut off by a single look from Geralt and Rose doesn't catch what Jaskier says in response as Geralt gently tugs on the reigns of Roach, urging him to start walking. Jaskier reluctantly followed behind, humming what sounded suspiciously the tune of _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_.

“Get some sleep while you can.” The deep whisper of Geralt's voice fills her ears and she glances up at him or tries to from her position against his back. “It'll be a few days before we get there.”

She nods slowly, letting herself fully rest against his back and _god_ , his back was so large and strong. It was like laying against a sturdy board. Well, a sturdy Witcher board that breathed slowly. As she rested her head against him, she could hear a very soft, _very_ slow heartbeat. She slowed her breathing, straining to hear it.

“Mhm, Geralt.” She yawned, feeling the man turn his head a little. “Your heartbeat...'s slow...”

He said something, softly under his breath, but she didn't hear it. She tried to speak up, to ask what he'd said, but she felt too tired. It had been a long, surprisingly exhausting day and she could already feel that this was going to be a long journey. Might as well rest while she could, right? 


	7. My Only Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt saves Rose once again, which leads to a dramatic change in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are ya'll ready for some steam????? Also, Jask ships it lmao

She woke with a start, not knowing how long it'd been or where they were. Jaskier was still softly playing his lute, much to Geralt's chagrin. She lifted her head off of Geralt's back, wiped the visible drool from her face and tried (to no avail) to do the same to Geralt's back but failed. She brushed her hair away from her face and looked around, noticing that they were in a somewhat foresty area alongside a river. It had a steady flow and had it not been for the dirtiness of the water, she might've been tempted to bath in it.

“Mhm...where are we?” She tightens her arms around Geralt's waist unintentionally, casting a look to Jaskier as he hits a particularly high note that has her ears ringing. He stops playing the lute to cast a glance at her, jealousy present and she realizes he's likely been walking this whole time – something she feels a little bad for but at the same time, her own feet would be aching in his position.

“Just outside Ban Gleán.” Geralt replies simply.

“Can we stop to rest? Unlike _you two_ , I've been walking for well, _God_ knows how long.” Jaskier whines, throwing his lute over his shoulder as his walk slows, shoulders hunched. Geralt doesn't say anything and Roach continues to trot along the road.

“I'm tired as well...and hungry. I don't think a rest would be a bad idea.” Muses Rose and Roach stops so suddenly she would've been thrown off, had it not been for Geralt in front of her. She's unwinding her hands from around him, watching as he dismounted, then hold out an arm to her. She used the leverage to help her down, sending a smile to Jaskier, who was relieved by the break.

“You two stay here.” Geralt commands before trudging off into the woods, presumably to hunt down some food. Jaskier and Rose both watched him in leave before Rose stood, placing her hands sternly on her hips, trying her best to mimic Geralt as she summoned the deepest voice she could muster.

“ _You two stay here_.” She mocked him, “ _Don't get into trouble_. _Don't smile because I prefer to look constipated_.”

Jaskier struggled not to laugh, but eventually devolved into a full laughing fit, her following not long after. After composing herself, she walked over to the bard, seating herself beside him on a dead tree stump. She cast a glance at him.

“He'll kill me for making that joke.” She muses.

“No. He'd kill _me_ for making it. You'll be fine.” Jaskier retorts, mildly amused.

He had noticed his friend's longing glances at the young woman. He wasn't blind to the ways of love, having been caught up in such things himself. He knew what those glances meant, though he supposed he hadn't ever expected to see them on Geralt's faces, of all people. Still, it made him happy knowing that someone wanted Geralt and Geralt wanted someone.

“I don't think that's true.” She replied softly.

“He's crazy about you.”

The words tumble out of Jaskier's mouth before he can stop them and he considers pretending they hadn't been spoken, but he sees it's too late for that by the surprised look on her face. Feeling a little nervous about what he said, he hurriedly looks away from her, coughing.

“Well, I mean, maybe not _crazy_ but he definitely likes you. Well, obviously he likes you, but I meant _likes_ you, like...”

He stops when he hears the sound of water splashing and the sound of a soft gasp. He turns, gasping even louder when he sees what he can only assume is a vodnik – a ghostly appearing man in the current of the water, holding Rose under the water.

“GERALT! GERALT! Time-time for some, uh, some witchering! Geralt!” He screeches at the top of his lungs, hoping that the Witcher will hear him and have not wandered far. He glanced around, gripping his lute as he tried to figure out what to do. He was useless in a fight! He was frozen to the spot, watching as she was being _drowned_ by some weird creature.

Geralt, thank the gods that be, appears out of nowhere, and slices the creature with his silver sword. The creature stumbles back, screeching all the while and using the opportunity, Geralt plunges his free hand into the current of the water and yanks her up and over his shoulder. He then places his forefinger in front of him, casting an Ignii spell. Jaskier watches, stunned, as Geralt emerges from the water with Rose over his shoulder.

“I-is she alright?” He finally manages to get out, rushing over to his side as he carefully set her down. She was soaked to the bone, her dress sticking to her skin and her red hair plastered to her neck. Her lips were dark, a darker color than usual and she was starting to look a darker color than she should. “I-I don't think she's supposed to look like that, Geralt.”

“Shut up, Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, setting his sword down. He leaned down, saw that she still wasn't breathing and then carefully undid the ties of her bodice. Jaskier raised his eyebrows but said nothing, instead just clutching his lute like a lifeline as Geralt placed his palms in the center of her chest and began to press down several times. He paused, checked to see if she was breathing. When she wasn't, he took her chin with the utmost gentleness and tilted it back.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked as Geralt pinched her nose, took a breath and then sealed their lips together. He did this then pressed on her chest again, not answering his question. Though honestly, to Jaskier, it just looked like he was trying to kiss her back to life and well, it seemed to work because not a moment later, her eyes were opening and she was sitting up, coughing water out of her mouth.

“What the **fuck**? Didn't I say to stay here?” Geralt gestured behind him for emphasis, but his voice was lacking in the usual abrasiveness as he held her to him. She coughed a few more times, water falling from her lips and down her chest as she looked up at him, eyes bloodshot.

“I-I did.” She manages through soft pants, chancing a glance at Jaskier behind Geralt before her vision blurred and she passed out.

When she awoke again, it was in an inn, or what she assumed to be an inn. She was in the center of a bed and was redressed in a different dress, though she did _not_ want to know how she got that way. She felt water-logged, was thirsty, and her lungs, throat, and head ached. She groaned, throwing a hand over her head.

“You're up.” The deep voice of Geralt filled her ears and she removed her hand from her face, looking to her left in the direction of the voice. He leaned in the doorway, his armor removed and clad only in his dark black tunic, pants, and boots, the Wolf medallion around his neck shining wonderfully in the soft light of the room.

“Y-yeah. What happened?” She asked, moving to sit up. She struggled, though, and Geralt rolled his eyes as he crossed the room to help her. He grasped her by the hips and pulled her up until she was seated against the headboard. “Thanks.”

“You were attacked by a Vodnik.” He says, sitting on the edge of the bed as he grabbed a cup on the wooden table beside the bed. “Drink this, you'll feel better.”

She grabbed the cup and looked down into it, inspecting the liquid inside. Not surprisingly, it was ale. She took a slow sip before setting it aside, letting her head rest against the wall behind her. She looks over at him and she can't help but smile. He looked so gentle like this – silver hair falling around his face, golden eyes soft with concern, and the light illuminating the softness of his features just perfectly.

It's then that she notices a cut in his lip and she reaches out, face scrunched in worry, running her fingertip across it. He doesn't even flinch, not even a little, as she runs her finger across the cut. Stubble tickles the bottom of her fingertips and she smiles a little at the pleasantry of the sensation. She doesn't know what possesses her, but she finds herself leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom tier of his lip where it's been split.

He doesn't move, seemingly frozen, letting the action take place and allowing her to pull away slowly. He closed his eyes for the moment that it happened, and they remain closed even as she pulls away, only opening when her back rested against the wall again. She smiled gently and ran her fingers across the skin of her lips where they'd touched.

“Uh...sorry, I...”

Before she can finish or even object, a strong, calloused hand is grasping her by the back of the neck and her lips are meeting him in another kiss, one more passionate and intense than the last and while it is surprising, it is not unpleasant. Her eyes close and she leans into it, a hand coming up to grasp at his shoulder as he tilts her head to deepen the kiss.

She's sure at this point that Geralt can not only hear her heartbeat but feel it as their bodies are pressed so tightly together she's not sure what's her and what's him anymore. It feels as though they are becoming one, even as they just _kiss_. The very thought of well, _anything more_ makes her flush and she pulls away for a moment.

She can see the desperation in his eyes, though the groan that follows the loss of contact is telling enough. Her arm braces around his neck as she peers into his golden eyes, bottom lip taut between her teeth. If there was someone to have a first time with, well, Geralt was it and if she was honest with herself, there was no one else she wanted to do anything with.

“Geralt, I...” Realizing it might just be better to do, not _speak_ , she opted instead to shift them, surprising him as he was placed underneath her. Strong hands came up to grasp her hips, keeping her on top of him as he looked up at her with a mix of surprise and pure bliss. “Wait, where's Jaskier?”

“Not important right now.”


	8. UPDATING SOON!

Hello!  
  
If anyone still follows this story,  
  
I just wanted ya'll to know that I will (hopefully) be updating soon! I am currently working on the next chapter of this story (which will likely be, uh, smut tbh) updating a number of my other stories on here. So sorry for the lack of updates! I hope ya'll will read the new chapter when it comes out!👀👀

Stay tuned!

-LD


End file.
